Alex left his chair in one fluid motion and, before Dominic realised his intention, he snatched the list from the table. Dominic surged to his feet.
‘Alex!’
Alex spun away and scanned the names. Then he thrust the paper at Dominic and subsided back into his chair. Gritting his teeth, Dominic folded the list and put it in his pocket before sitting back down, steeling himself for the ribbing he sensed was coming his way.
‘I was hoping the existence of that list was a daft rumour.’ Alex recited the five names, his voice soft and almost sorrowful. ‘Really, Dom? They’re the best you can conjure up?’
‘What are you talking about, you numbskull? They come from the very best families in England and every one of them has been properly raised and educated to take her place in society and to be the perfect choice for a nobleman’s wife.’
Alex drained his glass and went to refill it, and topped up Dominic’s while he was up.
‘There’s not one of ’em with an ounce of warmth or spark,’ he said once he regained his seat. ‘Yes, they’re perfect ladies, but they’re so icy and correct they can freeze a fellow with just one look.’
‘Alex...you know I have always planned to marry a lady worthy of being a future duchess. I need to choose my bride carefully.’
Alex simply held Dominic’s gaze.
Goaded, Dominic said, ‘I never took you for a romantic. I should have thought you would approve of marriages of convenience.’
‘This isn’t about me. It’s about you.’ Alex scrubbed his hand through his hair, a slight flush washing across his cheeks. ‘You always seem so...alone, somehow. I don’t want to see you alone in your marriage as well,’ he added, his voice gruff.
Dominic stared at his brother. How unlike Alex to trouble himself over someone else, even a member of the family. That thought unsettled him far more than Alex’s words and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
‘Do you remember Liv and I used to call you Lord Earnest after...after...?’
‘I remember.’ Dominic knew he meant after their mother’s death, but they never talked about it. Ever. He supposed they’d been too young to fully understand what had happened at the time and it had become something of an unwritten rule. He couldn’t even remember his father or Aunt Cecily really mentioning it, except as a fact. They had never talked about it. ‘Someone had to be the responsible one. I am the eldest...it was my duty to help keep you and Livvy out of trouble, as it is my duty to marry well.’
‘You take care that sense of duty don’t choke you, Brother.’ Alex sipped again at his brandy. ‘I look at you sometimes, Dom, and all I see is the perfect heir to the Duke of Cheriton—the man you present to the world. And I wonder about the man inside and about his dreams and desires.’
Dominic’s heart pounded uncomfortably. ‘You’re talking utter rubbish.’
His brother might be a year his junior—and he might have spent his youth bouncing from one scrape to another—but there were times when he appeared much, much older than his years. It was all right for Alex...he wasn’t burdened by the weight of duty and expectation. He wasn’t the heir.
Dominic had never questioned that duty—it was the way of their world. He was destined to follow the example set by his father, when he had married their mother for the good of the Dukedom.
‘The family have it all wrong, Dom. They’ve spent years fretting about me, watching over me. But it’s you they should be worrying about. I don’t believe any of those women will make you happy. You are allowed to be happy, you know.’
Dominic stared at his brother as those words sank in, stirring unfamiliar feelings that, somehow, tightened his throat until it felt as though he had tried to swallow a lump of dry bread. He was not used to this sombre and, somehow, sorrowful version of Alex; where was his devil-may-care brother who took mockery to new heights?
He thrust down the unfamiliar surge of emotion and unclenched his jaw. Never would he reveal how that simple comment had reached deep inside him and wrenched at his soul. He drew in a deep breath before forcing a hearty laugh.
‘All this is an excellent ruse, Alex, but you won’t divert me that easily.’
Alex shrugged. ‘Not trying to divert anyone. Just telling it as I see it.’
Dominic straightened his spine, now thoroughly irritated with himself for succumbing to Alex’s mood and allowing him to raise doubts in his mind. ‘I spoke to Wolfe earlier.’
Alex’s eyes narrowed. ‘He said.’
‘What’s your game with Wendover? Tell me you’re not getting in too deep. Is everything truly all right?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Alex...’
Alex’s eyes glittered. He tossed back his brandy and rose to his feet. ‘Worry about your own future. Not mine. One day maybe my family will see me as something other than a boy looking for trouble. ’Night, Avon.’
Dominic sat for a long time after Alexander left, that same nervy apprehension churning his stomach relentlessly even as he reassured himself that Alex didn’t have a damned clue what he was talking about.
* * *
The following morning, Dominic called at Beauchamp House, to take his brother-in-law, Hugo, to Jackson’s boxing saloon for a sparring session. It was Olivia and Hugo’s first visit to London for the Season since the birth of their two-year-old twins, Julius and Daisy, and he found them waiting for him in the first-floor salon. After greeting Olivia with a kiss, Dominic said, ‘Ready to go, Hugo? We’ll soon get you back in condition.’ He jabbed at Hugo’s abdomen. ‘Seems to me you’ve gone soft since you married.’
Hugo laughed, but Olivia leapt to his defence. ‘He has not gone soft, Dominic! I’ll have you know—’
She stopped as the door opened again and Alex strolled in. Dominic’s heart sank as their eyes met. Their conversation of the night before was unfinished and Alex, he knew, would have no hesitation in raising the subject in front of Olivia and Hugo.
‘Alex!’ Olivia flew across the room to embrace him. ‘Oh, I am so happy to see you! Why have you not been to visit us for such an age?’
‘Hey! Steady on, Sis! You near to knocked me flying—you’re no slip of a girl nowadays, are you?’ Alex held her away from him and looked her up and down, mischief glimmering in his eyes. ‘But still as much a hoyden as ever.’
‘Oh, do stop teasing, Alex.’ She reached up to tidy her black hair, re-pinning it haphazardly. ‘I’m a respectable matron now, don’t you know.’
He grinned. ‘I’ll accept matron, but respectable?’
She punched his arm. ‘I am a mother! Of course I am respectable!’
Alex kissed her cheek, then greeted Hugo and Dominic, who took the opportunity to suggest to Hugo it was time they left.
‘Something I said, Brother?’ said Alex. ‘Or something I might say?’
Dominic shrugged. ‘I thought you and Livvy would appreciate the chance to catch up.’
‘Oh, we’ll have plenty to talk about,’ drawled Alex, casting himself down on the sofa. ‘See you later, Dom. Don’t take out all your frustrations on Hugo, will you?’
Dominic didn’t trust himself to answer—not without causing an argument. He strode from the room and waited until he saw Hugo’s tall form descending the stairs before he left the house and climbed into his carriage. Hugo settled by his side and the carriage moved off.
‘Well?’ he said eventually, unable to stomach the continuing silence. ‘I suppose Alex told you?’
Hugo raised one dark eyebrow. ‘That you intend to select a bride this Season? Yes, he did. Congratulations.’
‘You might say that like you mean it.’
Hugo huffed a laugh. ‘As if you care for my opinion. I warn you, though, Livvy is hell-bent on meeting the ladies on your list.’
He’d been afraid of that.
‘I’ve warned her not t
o interfere, but I have no doubt you’ll know her verdict once she’s met them all.’
‘No doubt.’
Silence fell, and Dominic gazed from the window as the carriage turned into New Bond Street, idly watching the people they passed. Then he stiffened as he caught sight of Ma Prinks, shabbily dressed as ever, carrying a wailing toddler. Dominic rapped on the ceiling and the carriage halted.
‘What is it?’ Hugo leaned over to peer out of the window.
‘I know that woman and I know her game.’
Dominic leapt from the carriage and strode back towards Prinks, who halted the minute she saw Dominic, her scowl morphing into an ingratiating simper.
‘You’re a long way from your usual haunts, Ma. What are you up to?’
‘Not up to nuffin, milor’. Just takin’ my young nipper for a walk, see?’
Dominic studied the child, pale-skinned and red-haired, with puffed-up eyes and snot trailing from its nostrils, and then eyed Prinks’s dark hair and swarthy face.
‘Yours, is it?’ It was impossible to tell the sex of the child.
‘His pa was ginger.’
‘I don’t believe you, Ma. Are you up to your old tricks again?’ He glanced at Hugo, standing by his side. ‘Ma Prinks here has a talent for “finding” young ’uns and using them to gain sympathy and money from passers-by.’
‘You never cease to amaze me by the company you keep, Avon,’ drawled Hugo.
Dominic frowned as he noticed the interest of people passing them by. Fortunately, it was still before noon and most of the haut ton had not yet started to shop, but he had no wish to continue drawing attention.
‘Did you think Bond Street might give you easy pickings, Ma?’
The woman snorted. ‘So it would if certain nobs would keep their conks out of poor folks’ business.’
‘Did you steal him?’
‘No! I never! ’Is ma’s dead, in’t she, and ’is father’s nowhere to be found. I’m doin’ him a favour, see? At least wi’ me he’ll get fed.’
Dominic held out his arms. ‘Give him to me, Ma. I’ll make sure he’s cared for.’
‘You got no right—’
‘Hand him over, or I’ll hand you over to the constables. I’m sure the magistrates will be even more interested than me to hear how you came by the boy.’
She thrust the child at Dominic, not even waiting until he had him securely before releasing him. ‘Tek ’im,’ she snarled. ‘Plenty more where ’e came from.’
By the time Dominic had the boy in a secure hold, Ma Prinks was striding away. He sighed.
‘She’s right,’ he said to Hugo. ‘We do our bit at Westfield, but it simply isn’t enough. There are just too many children.’
He led the way back to the carriage and, once inside, he looked down into the infant’s face. Two blue eyes stared back. Then Dominic checked his limbs. Two arms. Two legs.
‘At least this one appears unharmed. The last one she had was blind.’ His heart clenched at the memory. ‘Deliberately blinded, to gain more sympathy and thus more alms. It’s a filthy business.’
‘That...’ Hugo’s voice choked. He cleared his throat. ‘That is atrocious. He looks the same age as our twins. When I think...’ Again, his voice failed him and he cleared his throat again. ‘What now?’
‘I’ll take him straight out to Westfield. The Whittakers will take him in and then Peter will make enquiries just in case anyone is missing their child. I don’t hold out much hope, though.’ He smiled wryly at Hugo. ‘Sorry. It looks like we’ll have to postpone our session. But we can drop you off at Jackson’s if you wish. I’m sure someone there will spar with you.’
‘No.’ Hugo’s voice was thoughtful. ‘I’d rather come with you, if you’ve no objection. I have a sudden urge to discover what it is you do at this school of yours.’
* * *
Three days later, Liberty sat with Mrs Mount at one end of Lord and Lady Twyford’s ballroom, absorbing the gowns and the jewels, the elegant dancing and the smiling faces, tapping her foot in time to the music from the quartet sitting on the dais at the far end of the room and just...just...enjoying being there.
This was the first truly prestigious ball she and her sisters had been invited to attend, courtesy of the unflagging efforts of Mrs Mount to inveigle invitations for the Lovejoy sisters who were indeed viewed as upstarts by many members of the haut ton. Liberty hoped and prayed this ball would be the first of many. It was her sisters’ first opportunity to mingle with the highest in society and they had already proved a draw for several eligible gentlemen eager for introductions. Hope—her blue eyes shining with excitement—had been led out for the first dance by the youthful Lord Walsall and Verity’s card was also full although Liberty would have preferred a less...seedy-looking partner for her youngest sister’s first dance. The gentleman, who had been introduced by Lord Twyford himself as Lord Bridlington, looked forty if he looked a day and there was a gleam in his sleepy-lidded eyes as he leisurely inspected Verity’s person that Liberty could not quite like. Still, she consoled herself...it was just one dance.
Gideon and Lord Alexander Beauchamp were also gracing the ball with their presence which meant Liberty could relax and enjoy herself rather than fretting over what her twin was up to. The rules that governed high society, she had decided, were hopeless as far as females were concerned. Even she hesitated to follow Gideon to some of the haunts he frequented. But she had found an unlikely ally in Gideon’s valet, who was as determined as Liberty to prevent his master from committing social suicide, and Rudge was proving a satisfactory spy, informing Liberty of Gideon’s intended destination every evening. But every time Liberty was tempted to throw caution to the winds and follow Gideon, Dominic’s words would echo in her memory.
It is your sisters who will suffer. They will be tainted for life.
She was infuriated at finding herself controlled by his words even in his absence but, because she knew him to be right, she could not disregard his warning. Nor had she found it easy to banish Dominic himself from her thoughts. For the first time since Bernard’s death she was attracted to a man but, in a hopeless twist of fate, it was to a man who—although she could see he found her attractive in return—would never in a million years act upon that attraction. He was not only heir to a powerful duke, but he had set out a list of essential qualities for his perfect bride to help him make his choice. Liberty suppressed a snort. His choice, indeed. As if he just needed to snap his fingers and any female he selected would simply fall at his feet.
She banished Lord Avon from her thoughts. It was Lord Alexander she must apply herself to for, as far as she could see, his bad influence on Gideon continued unabated despite what Dominic claimed. Now she had seen him at close quarters Liberty wondered how she had ever mistaken Dominic for his brother. Their facial characteristics were similar, to be sure, but Alex was nowhere near as intimidating as his brother. Not quite as tall, not as solid, nor as dark...as brooding.
Nor is he as handsome.
The latter observation whispered through her thoughts before she could prevent it. She swatted it away and distracted herself by watching Gideon as he partnered one of Lord Twyford’s daughters. Her hand rose to her chest, as though to fill the hole there...the void that yawned deeper and darker the more her twin seemed to reject her.
Again, she gathered her scattering thoughts and redirected them to Alex, who was also dancing. Gideon had already declined to introduce her to him, but she was determined to find somebody who would. Maybe a direct appeal to him might work after all? She wouldn’t know until she tried. Lord knew, she’d made no progress in bringing Gideon to his senses over the past week and although she’d seen Lord Avon a few times, driving or riding in the Park, he had done no more than tip his hat to her so she had no way of knowing if he had kept to his promise to watch over their respective brothers.
She
scanned the Twyfords’ ballroom for the umpteenth time, searching for anyone who might introduce her to Lord Alexander Beauchamp. Of a sudden, her pulse kicked. Across the floor, through a gap in the dancers, she spied a face she recognised—Lady Jane Colebrooke, standing with a beautiful young woman with shining black hair and a tall, dark gentleman.
Chapter Eight
‘Mrs Mount.’ Liberty leaned towards their chaperon. ‘Lady Jane Colebrooke is over there—I should like to renew my acquaintance with her and to thank her again for her kindness. I shan’t be gone long.’
Mrs Mount nodded and smiled, then resumed her conversation with the matron sitting on her other side. Liberty stood and shook out the skirts of her new violet gown—one of three she’d had made after the disaster at the Trents’ rout—before making her way around the edge of the room. She slowed as she reached Lady Jane and her companions and, as she hoped, Lady Jane noticed her.
‘Miss Lovejoy! How do you do?’
‘Why, Lady Jane. What a happy coincidence. I had hoped I might see you, to thank you again for your kindness.’
Lady Jane blushed. ‘Oh, it was my pleasure. Might I introduce you to Lord Hugo Alastair and his wife, Lady Olivia? Miss Lovejoy is Lord Wendover’s sister,’ she said to Lady Olivia. ‘We met when she was overcome by the heat at a party last week—I merely leant my assistance when requested by your brother, Avon.’
Brother? Liberty’s breath seized as cool silvery-grey eyes—the mirror of Avon’s—slowly assessed her. Of all the rotten luck—she could hardly beg an introduction to Lord Alexander when his sister was within earshot. Liberty curtsied again, this time a little deeper. Lady Olivia, after all, was the daughter of a duke and would no doubt expect her due. And Lord Hugo must be the son of a high-ranking aristocrat, she realised, as he bowed with a charming smile.
Mrs Mount’s efforts to drum lessons of aristocratic precedence into the three Lovejoy sisters had not been for nothing because Liberty now knew that only the sons of marquesses and dukes had the courtesy title of ‘Lord’ affixed to their Christian names, so Lord Hugo must at least be the son of a marquess. Or marquis as some of them chose to be known. But Liberty still couldn’t quite fathom why sons of earls were not called ‘Lord’ when their sisters were afforded the title of ‘Lady’. This world was still a confused muddle of rules and details that had never touched upon her or her life before, but to which she must now conform.
Daring to Love the Duke's Heir Page 8
